


HD 'Got It Bad'  [PG-13]

by tigersilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersilver/pseuds/tigersilver





	HD 'Got It Bad'  [PG-13]

Author: [](http://tigersilver.livejournal.com/profile)[**tigersilver**](http://tigersilver.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: H/D  
Word Count: Really. Very. Short.  
No warnings, just post-war fluff. For [](http://marriesue.livejournal.com/profile)[**marriesue**](http://marriesue.livejournal.com/)

  


There’s this breathless, keening-crying howl building inside him and it has, for the longest while. He’d let it out—he’s been so tempted, but he can't. It would remind him of Greyback and that’s not what- _-not_ what _he can do_. 

But it’s different this time and it’s all down to Potter: Potter's kneeling on his parlour carpet with one of those  Bottomless Bags and he’s pulling things out of it—wand, broom, stuffed tattered dragon—and he’s saying—oh, he’s babbling and talking about all manner of nonsense. 

“You really should!” Potter’s gabbling and gesturing—“And you’re a brilliant Wizard, Draco,”—and nonsense, nonsense, the like Draco’s never expected to hear from _him_ —

“I’m really missing having everyone—if you could, for me. It's so...empty. And I think your Mum wants you—“

He’s so flattered by all this babble but the Howl is there, rising like cauldrons boiling over and if he doesn’t now, then when?

And all Draco wants really is to touch Potter. The wand is lovely; he never thought he’d see _that_ again, and the broom's a super surprise—Potter’s blathering on and on about Quality Quidditch. It’s been rebuilt; Diagon’s all open again for the shopping. 

And Draco only wants to fall down in a heap next to Potter and soothe that ache that he feels, deep-deep inside him. Grasp Potter and shake him, make sure he’s really just as Draco recalls from Before. Before. He’d used to wear the robes of Firstie, Before—they won’t fit him anymore. No more. He’d come across them in his armoire, stuffed way back—his Mum must’ve kept them. Sentimental—but that’s not what— _not_ what. Not what this is all about. He was a callow Firstie  once and Potter had been there, too, right at his side all along from the start and all he wanted— _all he wanted._

He flops—or, rather, folds himself up neatly, like he’s really a grasshopper origami, made of thin parchment, made of howling, half-sobbing flesh, because gods' know he can’t help himself but its bred in the bone. And sits on his haunches, hunkered in up right next to Potter—Potter’s smiling away, the daft git—and Draco. 

_ Draco _

Draco can’t breathe; the ache is ringing, panging, howling, rising and he’s gasping and Potter says:

“Whoa, there. You alright?” 

And green eyes are brilliant, turned solely to him. He doesn’t know why exactly Potter’s here—he certainly never in a million years would go _looking_ for Potter—not for the likes of _him_. But he’s not looking a gift flying horse in the mouth, now is he? 

And—“I want to kiss you”—is what he blurts out and Potter’s gaping—

And smiling—

And leaning—

And it’s done. Draco instantly wants to _do it_ **again**. 

“Got all this for you. Went down to the dungeons just yesterday—so many memories. All this, abandoned. Lying about there. You might want it, I thought—and then I was on Diagon and I saw this—and you should have it, I thought—we can fly—“

And Draco just has to stop the gush. It’s too spectacular; he can’t cope. He can’t breathe unless he’s breathing Potter, drawing him deep in his lungs. 

And it’s been so long since he was like this. Since the world was right, since the orbit of his life made any sense at all. And he can only remember waiting, waiting desperately, till he broke or it did, or Potter came—and there were choices to be made and he made them—

And Potter’s taking pity or maybe it’s that Draco’s looking better, Potter’s breath having inflated him, having stolen him away from melancholy—having given him life again. 

Potter’s kissing and Draco’s kissing and the neat knife-edges of Draco’s knees are flopping apart and he’s rolling onto Potter—Harry—and Harry’s rolling into him, over and over, knocking broom and wand and bag and dragron, all the ways they can go and he’s--

Got it bad. And he’s known it and Potter-Harry-Harry-Harry!— _Harry_ —just might

“I’m so glad I stopped by!”—Potter says that, baldly, right to his face, mouth wet with Draco—

Potter might just have it, too. 

  



End file.
